Charlie exhaled and kept her gaze on Declan as she sat on the end of the suede couch. Declan knelt before her, his long fingers brushing against her ankles as he undid the delicate straps of her heels. She couldn’t help but squeeze her thighs together, not quite ready to reveal herself to him again, at least not in this setting. As her shoes slipped off, Declan’s hands moved slowly up her stocking clad calves, to her knees, and to the outsides of her thighs. He tugged gently on the garters attached to her stockings. As he pushed her skirt higher, Charlie held on to her breath, as though setting it free would break her out of the fantasy she found herself in. His hands kept exploring, and then suddenly stopped. She waited expectantly for him to go farther, but his hands fell away.

“I’m going to pour you a glass of wine,” he said. And there it was again, Declan’s devious grin, that careful balance between urgency and patience.

Declan rose, and Charlotte closed her eyes to try and find some balance. The sound of ice shifting in the wine bucket echoed through the office. She felt frozen in place, paralyzed with lust.

When she opened her eyes, she found Declan kneeling before her once again, extending a glass of red wine. “You’re not going to join me, Mr. Pearse?” she whispered.

Declan’s grin widened as he placed the glass into Charlie’s hand. “Oh, I’ll be joining you. But there is something I want to do first.” Charlotte sipped the Malbec, her favorite, and then she sipped again, savoring the aromatic spiciness and the rich fruity intensity.

Declan removed the glass from her hands and set it on the table next to their untouched meal. He slowly, deliberately, extracted an ice cube from the confines of the bucket, and used it to trace a path along the neckline of Charlie’s blouse and down over her body. As the melting, frozen surface scraped across her nipples, they hardened like they were reaching out for him, challenging him to go farther. Declan placed light kisses on her bare skin, filled with heat. Charlie’s breath grew shallow as she struggled to remain still.

Declan lifted the glass again, bringing it to her lips, tipping it back slightly so the smoky taste only trickled over her tongue. And then he did something she had never experienced before. He reached for the plate of food, grabbing one of the tender pasta pillows, and he traveled it up her thighs. It was still warm and the sauce it was bathed in left a delicate golden sheen along the upward path. Charlie felt like she was outside her body watching the events unfold. Her mind and body were no longer connected. He lowered his mouth to the glistening sauce tracks left on her skin. Charlie watched as his mouth moved up her legs. Swiftly, Declan pulled her skirt up to her waist, which he held firmly in both of his hands, as his mouth moved higher and higher. He stopped, remembering the pasta in his hand, and placed it to Charlie’s mouth. She hesitated for a moment, wondering what he was possibly feeding her. “Charlotte, don’t be afraid to try new things. It’s quite lovely. Please try it.” Charlie opened her mouth, and he fed her tenderly. As she swallowed the last bits of delicious pasta, Declan set back to work forging ahead on his balsamic infused trail.

Charlie released a small whimper of pleasure as Declan stroked the fabric of her panties. She watched through lowered lids as he smiled when he discovered how wet she had become.

“Ask,” he ordered, his fingers hooking under the waistband of her panties. “Ask, Charlotte.”

“Please, Mr. Pearse,” she murmured, her cheeks aflame.

“Not good enough.” His voice was still soft, but she could hear the edginess in his tone. “Ask.”

“Please take them off, Mr. Pearse.”

Declan raised himself so he was leaning over her, his finger still hooked around the thin strap of her thong. “What exactly would you like me to take off?” The briefest hint of a smile didn’t do anything to lessen his intensity.

“Please,” Charlie responded in such a quiet tone, she struggled to hear herself. “Please, Mr. Pearse, take off my panties.”

“Louder, please.”

Hesitantly, Charlie raised her gaze to meet Declan’s. She saw the spark of mischief dancing there, and she couldn’t resist releasing some of her untamed spirit. She reached forward and grabbed one of the lapels of Declan’s suit coat, bunching up the material in her fist. “Please.” She pulled him closer. “Please take off my panties, Mr. Pearse.”

He ripped Charlie’s thong from her body, and before she fully comprehended what was going on, she felt the shocking warmth of Declan’s mouth against her clit. His mouth tickled and teased her, as did his stubble. Charlie moaned and grasped at the cushion beneath her. She felt his finger gently touch her as he continued to lick and taste her; softly at first, then with more pressure and increased pace. Declan’s tongue danced over every nerve ending, his solicitations unrelenting. Charlie whimpered, threw her head back, and reached her climax hard and fast.

“Charlotte, you are such a good girl. That was your reward for leaving the journal where I asked. The quote you selected seems to fit your personality quite well.” He helped her smooth her skirt back down as her breathing returned to normal. “I think we should leave for the evening. I have more plans for you, and they don’t involve any sort of fucking on that abysmal sofa.”

***

Declan’s drive to the hotel was an exercise in both restraint and control. He tried desperately to keep his hands and mouth off Charlotte, and his gaze on the road in an effort to prevent them from causing a traffic accident. It was a losing battle. She sat in the seat next to him, her skin giving off a luminous glow, her clothing gloriously disheveled, and her hair a fabulous mess. God if she didn’t look entirely fuckable. He pulled up to the hotel entrance, handed the keys to the valet, and gave Charlotte his hand to help her out of the car. He stood next to her, patiently waiting for the elevator doors to close, and pushed the button for his floor. Restraint and control dissolved as soon as the elevator car began to transport them upward. He slammed Charlotte back against the wall and thrust against her like he had been dying to do. “Charlotte,” his voice was breathy. “I don’t know what you do to me.”

Declan reached up with his left hand and grabbed Charlotte by the hair. He roughly pushed his lips down on to hers, kissing her with a raw, hungry violence. Inexplicably, she kissed him back with a ferocity matching his. Her tongue timidly explored his at first, and then dueled more boldly with such desperation it shocked Declan. She flung her arms around him, pressing her chest into his stomach, and he felt her pelvis grind into his leg.

Grasping Charlotte’s shoulders, Declan pushed her back harder against the wall, noticing her white, lacy bra through the sheer material of her blouse. His hands went for the burgundy pencil skirt, looking for the fastener. Sue me. I don’t know how these damn things are designed. I don’t wear women’s clothing. “Charlotte, some assistance please.” She found it for him and was about to unzip it as the elevator doors opened. He broke their embrace and led her out of the elevator to his suite. At the door, he groped for his key card, holding Charlotte against him. He slid the key and the door opened as they fell into the room, their mouths joined.

“Charlotte, you need to know this is the point of no return.” Declan grew solemn. “What happens here, in this room, binds you to me. I will own you.”

He noticed she gazed demurely at the floor instead of looking him in his eyes. Such a good girl. “Please look at me when I am speaking to you.”

“Yes, Mr. Pearse.”

Charlie lifted her gaze from the floor and stared intently into Declan’s eyes. Her demure nature unchanging with the stare. Her eyes filled with lust, her chest was heaving, and Declan could hear her heart beating rapidly. His feelings overwhelmed him, and he crushed his mouth onto hers once more. As he did, his hands moved down toward her stomach, crumpling her skirt into a pile in one hand. He slid his hand down, his fingers searching for her warmth, her wetness.